


And Money Can't Buy... What?!

by yesterday4



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, No Spoilers, if you've seen any of the third season at all., really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-10
Updated: 2007-12-10
Packaged: 2018-12-09 11:45:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday4/pseuds/yesterday4
Summary: Bela pays the crossroads demon a visit, five days before Dean's time is up.





	And Money Can't Buy... What?!

Title: And Money Can't Buy... What?!  
Author: yesterday4  
Rating: R but only for language.  
Summary: Bela pays the crossroads demon a visit, five days before Dean's time is up.  
Warning: No spoilers, really, if you've seen any of the third season at all.

 

  
It was a crisp night, cold and starry and utterly still. An eerie calm had settled—not so much as a cricket chirped to keep her company—and even the breeze that had stirred her hair over by the relative safety of her car had disappeared, dying down without even so much as a whisper.

The whole place felt dead, void of life and strangely… evil. She could feel an age old energy thrumming inside of her stomach, raising goose bumps on her arms and making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and—that was all. Silent night and evil energy; Bela made her heels crunch louder than necessary when she hunched down to dig a hole in the gravel with her hand. She imagined the loud rumble of the Impala cutting through the foreboding atmosphere around her and pictured Dean in her head, bent over as she was now and hell bent on his purpose. Hell bent on saving Sam. The bloody martyr. Swearing at this mental version of Dean, Bella shoved her own box into the hole, pushed the gravel over the top of it, and stepped back.

She had waited 360 days for the Winchester boys to work themselves out of this latest mess. It was time to take matters into her own hands—or her wallet, as it were. Chewing at her lip, Bela glanced down to make sure her briefcase was still waiting patiently by her feet. She knew all about offers and counteroffers, inquiries, and timely rejections, and she was ready to play ball with whatever hell spawn came for her.

If she was expecting said hell spawn to appear immediately, she was sorely mistaken. Better for the mood, she supposed; better for the suspense. Whatever got the demon off, in truth; Bela was not a girl who could not appreciate a little drama here and there. She wondered how long Dean waited; if he was piss his pants afraid that his plan wouldn’t work—that his plan _would_ work. Dean without Sammy. Ha fucking ha! She couldn’t imagine it, and she didn’t even know them all _that_ well.

360 days, and she was disappointed, in truth. She had heard about their unfortunate situation through the grapevine, and had to agree that it seemed like quite the pickle. But they were the Winchesters—they were SamandDean—and she had never _ever_ thought they’d come up short on something this important. Best never to underestimate but Bela, stupid fool, had overestimated something fierce. Had been dazzled by witty one liners and whiplash smiles, by the promise of something-but-nothing behind Dean’s snark, and she’d be damned if he was going to be drug to hell on her watch. She was a better thief—she sure as hell was a better negotiator—and really. If she pulled this off, the look on Dean’s face was going to be priceless. _I own you_ was what she was going to tell him, and she was going to laugh in that way that aggravated the shit right out of him. And he’d _hate_ it, but he’d be alive.

 _Guess you’ve won_ , was what he’d told her, voice distant and tinny over a call made on bad reception. _I’ll be long gone before I ever get the chance to give you the killing you deserve. Don’t visit my grave._ You bitch.

But he hadn’t called her that, because it was a goodbye phone call. Dean was making fucking _goodbye_ phone calls, and there wouldn’t even _be_ a grave what with the whole hellhound-no-body thing—and… and, even if there was, she’d go there and spit on it, because she was mad that they were so stubborn, and couldn’t—wouldn’t—see what she could do for them.

360 days, and all they’d managed was a bullet through the heart of one of the thousands of crossroads demons. Bela herself was a fan of the shoot-first-ask-questions-later method, but really. Enough was enough. Her stomach pitched hard just once and her heart was hammering, but it wasn’t fear. Really. Bela did not care one way or the other what happened. This was a power play, nothing more, and she swallowed hard to quell the numbness inside of her.

Numbness all _around_ her, actually. It was suddenly bloody fucking freezing. Repressing the urge to rub at her arms, Bela turned on her heels. It was time.

The crossroads demon was a woman—surprise, surprise—and a stunning one at that. She was clad in a black dress that exposed a ridiculous amount of cleavage, and was flashing Bela a million watt smile guaranteed to make wankers out of thousands of teenage boys the world—and the underworld—over. Bela was not impressed.

Tilting her head, she offered up a smile of her own, glacial in comparison, and said, “Don’t they have _male_ crossroads demons? Aren’t you supposed to be seducing me with our bargain and a promise of a wild-and-oh-so-wrong shag later? You really _are_ lovely, dear, but I’ve got to tell you…” She trailed off with a shrug.

The crossroads demon proved a humorless one. That smile flashed again. “Bela Talbot, isn’t it? Your Dean Winchester’s…” An elegantly white hand waved noncommittally, signaling that Bela Talbot was Dean Winchester’s nothing, which Bela already knew, and that she was a fool for it, out here in the middle of the night to bargain for his life. Pity Bela also was aware of that.

But Bela knew other things too. She _knew_ demons and ghosts and scary things in a way that Sam and Dean never would; she _communicated_ with them, had made business partners of them. She knew better than to show one iota of emotion—had learned the hard way how sharp the tongue of an angry demon could be—and so she took a calming breath and repressed absolutely everything. The demon could go on forever—Bela knew she was more or less an easy target—but it was day 360. There simply wasn’t time.

Holding up her hand to stop whatever the demon planned on saying next, Bela adopted her best no-nonsense tone and began.

“Enough with the small talk, wouldn’t you say?” she asked, leaning back on her heels and trying to appear completely at her leisure. “We could take shots at each other all night, couldn’t we? I’m sure you’d like to take them for five days straight, and God knows you most likely could. I, however, happen to have other matters to attend to. Clients, you know. So, let’s be blunt. Dean Winchester is yours in five days, and I don’t plan on allowing that to happen. I’ve come to make you an offer. Hell if I know _why_ either of us would want him. Have you met him? Regardless..."

The crossroads demon arched a brow. “You’ve come to bargain for Dean Winchester. I don’t think so. That boy’s soul is priceless.” A beat. “And I know why _I’d_ want him.”

Bela cringed on the inside but kept her tone placid. Bending at the side, she found the handle of her briefcase and advanced a step on the other woman. This was her favourite part: the moment when the case fell open and neatly aligned rows of cash were displayed for the viewer’s pleasure. So dramatic.

“I find I quite like dealing with priceless things,” Bela admitted. “I spend a lot. It’s a bad habit I find I can’t quite break.”

“You mean to buy Dean Winchester’s soul with cash?” The demon scoffed; reached forward and pushed the briefcase back so that it bumped into Bela’s stomach. “You think we need _cash_? You silly naïve little girl, did you—”

“Of course you need cash. You are fighting a war, aren’t you? Wars are not free. This is the twenty first century, my dear girl. There isn’t much that can stand up against a weapon nowadays, is there? Oh wait! Other weapons can.” A beat. “And I don’t want Dean Winchester’s soul. Send it back to whoever is not you and yours, and let it go on doing what souls do. Dean Winchester lives, and so does Sam. This cash is yours.”

“Sorry,” said the demon, smirking now, “no deal. Boyfriend’s ours and—”

“There’s more,” Bela rushed, desperate not to let the demon talk. “In the trunk of my car are four equally priceless artifacts that have come into my possession. It would be a shame if those were to fall into the wrong hands, of course, but really… they could be instrumental in bringing down the world… and the Winchesters. Really, wouldn’t they be more fun to kill together? Saving Sam is easy for Dean. Much worse for Dean to see him die. Slowly. You know, a good spot of torture after tea.”

And maybe that was overkill but she could see interest alight in the other woman’s eyes; she had the demon there. Beckoning with her head, Bela walked back to her car and popped the trunk; let the demon peer at the contents inside.

Her stomach flopped hard again as she watched the demon peruse the artifacts, but it… it was okay. It was going to be okay if she won this. Even instrumental things could be stopped and Bela was nothing but thorough. She had done her research; crossroads demons were not high up in the class system of scum, and she only hoped the other woman did not have the resources to know what she did about the objects in front of them. They could stop these artifacts, Sam and Dean, and if not... well, maybe she could buy someone who could. She hoped the other woman would hear _Victory!_ and take the plunge based on greed.

Greed, and a funny thing to think of then. She thought of the disgust on Dean Winchester’s face when he looked at her; when her business became the topic of conversation. Black and white Dean, who hadn’t looked disgusted to see her in a dress at the party—and who hadn’t acted disgusted to be around her when her business _wasn’t_ brought up. Straight laced Dean Winchester, whose voice had caught on _see you in hell_ before he had slammed the phone down on that cursed goodbye call. Stupid Dean Winchester, who cared enough about another person to risk the fires of hell for him.

Before any of her inner turmoil could flash on her face, she skirted in between the other woman and her car, effectively hiding the contents with her back. This was it. Her palms felt moist.

“You’ve seen what I have”—

 _Well, sweetheart, I don’t need your kind of help_ and a leather jacket that smelled like alcohol and trouble when she’d accidentally stood too close. Cocky grins and loud music and that _stupid_ car and…

\--“and you know what I want. What I’ve got right here could help you change the world, honey. And you _do_ want to win, yeah? Imagine how much you yourself will benefit from this. Dean Winchester’s inconsequential in the long run, if _these_ can help you.”

A pause because Bela liked a bit of suspense too. She lifted the briefcase to remind the crossroads demon of its existence, and watched the other woman’s eyes dart back and forth between the money and the trunk.

Dean and Sam were going to kill her. For real this time.

Bela smiled her best convincing grin. “Haven’t got all night unfortunately.”

Crossed her arms and did not think of green eyes and her sore stomach and huge _what ifs_. Did not think at all.

Leaning forward, she murmured close to the demon’s ear, “Have we got ourselves a deal?”


End file.
